The countryside north of Milagre was exceptionally quiet, especially after the constant bustle of the city. In the past few days, Eric had grown accustomed to the constant noise of other people around him, but the sudden peace was very relaxing. The only noise here was the sound of the horses, the creaking carts they pulled, and the occasional snatches of conversation that Eric heard from the merchant and his wife. They talked loudly, laughing uproariously at some comment the lady had made.

The guards were mostly silent. It wasn’t for any need or rule, but they were spread pretty far apart, which made casual conversation impossible. Eric, posted some fifty feet ahead of the two carts, was the farthest out, and quite alone. The nearest of his compatriots was walking beside the cart, ready to defend against any surprise attack from the sides of the road. Surprise attacks could be a real concern, Eric thought, as the grass on either side of the track was easily tall enough to conceal a crouching man.

The road was about eight feet wide here, and apart from the grass, visibility was excellent for miles in every direction. There were no clouds to speak of in the sky, and the sun beamed down from directly above them. Eric was sweating profusely under its direct attention, though he suspected that the guards wearing metal armor would be much more uncomfortable. Being trapped inside a metal tin can had to be torture in this heat, he thought, suppressing a shudder.

As they’d exited through the northern gate of Milagre, the sergeant had given his orders out quickly. Eric, as the most junior of them in both work and battle, would serve as advance guard. Those more experienced were stationed alongside the cart, where they could be counted on to react much faster. According to the sergeant, the advance was the least dangerous position, as any ambusher would typically wait for him to pass by before attacking. Eric thought this made sense, though he also thought that if the wagon were surrounded, he’d effectively be cut off, and worse than dead.

But he’d taken up his position without complaint, staying in a quick strut that kept him a good distance in the lead. He kept his senses as sharp as possible as he searched for potential threats, but so far the morning had been peaceful. He kept his Hide skill up as often as possible, not letting it lapse for longer than a second or two. The first time he’d activated it, the sergeant had given a shout of surprise as he lost sight of Eric. Eric had dropped it almost at once and explained what he was doing, which reassured the sergeant.

“Keep it up,” he had said. “It’s a good tactic for where you’re at. You just spooked me. Thought a crawler had got ya.”

Eric had wanted to ask what a crawler was, but figured that this was the kind of knowledge that should be common, and would only garner suspicion if he broached the subject. He was constantly aware of the things he said and did, trying his best to avoid the uncomfortable questions that would arise if they discovered his true identity.

It was sometime around mid-day when the sergeant called a halt to the march, and recalled Eric back to the cart. Eric moved gratefully back and into the shade cast by the large carriage holding the merchant. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his tunic, noting the large damp spot he’d created.

“Don’t do that,” a voice said behind him. The guard who had helped him clear the street in Milagre had come from his position on the right flank of the carts. “Master Rainhall likes us to remain presentable. Use this.”

He held out a clean white cloth, and Eric took it, wiping the sweat from his brow and neck. Nodding his gratitude, he pulled one of the water skins from where they hung on the side of the cart and took a long drag. One good move he’d noticed was that all their water was kept shaded, outside the bright sun’s contact, so that it didn’t overheat. Hot water was the worst, they all agreed. He let out a sigh of relief as he finished taking several long drafts, and handed it over to his fellow guard, along with the cloth.

“I’m Johan, by the way,” the guard said, before taking a long few sips himself. “We haven’t had much of a chance to talk since we set out.”

“Nice to meet you, Johan,” Eric said. “That’s a strange name if you don’t mind me saying so. Where do you hail from?”

Johan tilted his head slightly, confused at the strange way Eric phrased his question, and Eric mentally kicked himself. There were quite a few medieval stereotypes that he’d put his faith in, but only seemed odd and peculiar to the residents of Ahya. But Johan seemed uninterested after half a second, and passed the water skin to another guard before replying.

“I’m from the Welsik Isles,” he said. “My family are all about smithing, of course, but I got bored. Decided to take my skill for fighting and find work elsewhere.”

“Ah,” Eric said, secretly grateful he’d not made the claim of being from Welsik to Johan. “So you settled on Tyrman?”

“Yes. My family’s wares are sent to Milagre often, and I hear stories about The Black Hand. So when I set out for work as an armed guard, I came here. It’s been good so far.”

“Have you been in any really bad fights?” Eric asked curiously. “Or is it pretty peaceful all the time?”

“Guard work is pretty peaceful,” Johan chuckled. “But I also took part in the war, and that wasn’t exactly a calm time.”

“The War?” Eric tried his best to phrase it as a throwaway question. “Ah, yes. Thankfully I wasn’t here for that.”

Johan looked at him in confusion again, this time his expression slightly suspicious. “What? Where were you? Nearly all of the countries were involved.”

“I’m,” Eric said, then hesitated. He had to be careful, as he didn’t know where the war had taken place. “I’m from the plains south of Milagre. My parents didn’t want me taking part in the fighting, even though I’m able-bodied.”

Johan seemed satisfied with that explanation, and Eric breathed a sigh of relief. “Can’t blame them. Zaban was almost completely taken by the time we got there. But the Maravino fought hard to secure us a foothold, and by the time we got the army situated, it wasn’t hard to repel Attos.”

Attos, Eric thought. The name was vaguely familiar. If he remembered correctly, it was a nation to the far west, past the nations of Zaban and Welsik. Apart from the name, he knew nothing about the nation or its people, and this was the first time he’d heard of any war mentioned.

“It’s been nearly two years, but the people are still worried about it,” Johan continued. “It was a pretty big scare, especially to those druids. We knew that Attos’ military was getting larger, but we never actually expected him to attack. We just thought he was trying to squash out those bandits he’s got in the south.”

“He?” Eric asked. “You mean the King of Attos.”

“Of course. If you ask me, Issho-Ni should have taken Attos captive, and let him serve a few years behind bars for what he did. But you know them, they just wanted an end to the fighting, to avoid innocents getting hurt.”

Eric nodded quietly, completely lost, but trying his best to look like he understood. “Yeah, those Issho-Ni never change.”

Johan let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort, apparently in agreement with Eric, though he couldn’t understand why. “The Crown wouldn’t let them keep their authority if they weren’t such damn good fighters, but I swear, they’re so passive until the danger gets bad. If you’re a soldier, forget it. But if you’re a citizen who can’t fight, they move Heaven and Earth to act.”

Johan seemed slightly embittered by this Issho-Ni faction, though Eric couldn’t think of an appropriate reply. Making a mental note to read A History of Ahya the first chance he got, he said, “Well, they’re still around because they’re useful when we need them, aren’t we?”

“True,” Johan agreed, settling down a bit. “I have to admit, I was nearly dead when they showed up. If it weren’t for Calemviir, my unit would have been wiped out.”

Just then the sergeant came around the side of the cart, holding three large bags in his hands. “Johan, Eric, you two eat. William and Jameson are on watch. After you finish, you’ll relieve them.”

Eric and Johan both saluted, tapping a clenched fist on their chest. Then they accepted a sack each from the sergeant, and, Johan leading the way, made their slow way over to the campsite they’d picked out. The space seemed to have been made by hand, by some long-forgotten traveler. Nearly twenty feet wide and consisting of a soft sand, it stood at the shoulder of the road, and had a substantial firepit placed in the center, for cooking roadside meals.

The sergeant had parked the first cart along the edge of the road, which had also been widened here to avoid obstruction for parked carts. The merchant’s carriage was behind it, and as Eric and Johan settled themselves around the empty firepit, he and his wife were led out by Max to enjoy a bit of sunlight and stretch their legs.